


Lockpicking Skills Optional

by Leechbrain



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 09:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leechbrain/pseuds/Leechbrain
Summary: The "Oh shit someone's coming let's make out so they don't suspect we're up to something" trope, featuring Beau and Jester, for BeauJester Week 2019.





	Lockpicking Skills Optional

**Author's Note:**

> i was gonna do an art for this prompt (day 4, fake dating, of course), but instead i just.. started writing a thing. and then here this was! if you wanna see the rest of my works for beaujesterweek, check me out @spacefjords on tumblr! also thank you to beckoneveryone for beta reading this for me, and also listening to me complain about it a lot.

“Beau. Hey. Beau!”

Beau turns away from where she’d been attempting to pick a lock. The alley is dark, only the moonlight glinting off the cobblestones, still wet from the earlier rainfall. Jester is jogging towards her from where she’d been keeping watch around the corner, a stressed look on her face. 

“I almost had it, Jes-” 

“No time! They’re coming!”

“Aw, fu-” Beau doesn’t get the rest of her sentence out, before she has her arms full of poofy skirts and blue tiefling, her lockpicks falling to the ground. She has only enough presence of mind to step on them, stopping the clinking noise and keeping them out of sight. Her heart is thundering in her chest, as she can hear the steps of people closing in, and feel Jester’s soft hands move to grab either side of her face. 

“Kiss me, Beau!” Jester whispers intently, “This is what they do in the books, it always works. Come on!” Her voice sounds sure, but her face looks nervous. Uncertain. As if she doesn’t think Beau would want to. 

Beau leans in. 

She looks down at Jester’s lips, then up at her eyes, trying to convey that it’s okay. That seems to be all Jester needs, because she immediately pulls Beau in the rest of the way, their lips meeting almost painfully. Beau pulls back slightly, trying to get a better angle, moving her hands to hold onto Jester’s soft waist, sliding against the fabric of her dress. She can’t think. She can only try to keep up. 

Jester presses in again, opening her mouth slightly, one of her fangs nicking Beau’s lip. Beau lets out a small sound, that’s at least 70% pain and surprise, but she hopes in the tiny piece of her mind that still has coherent thought left that the people approaching them might think it’s an entirely different sound. 

At least Jester seems to realise what she’s done, whispering a quick apology before kissing Beau again, with less teeth this time. And it’s soft. It’s so soft, Beau doesn’t know how to feel. What to do. She’s tried not to think of this for so long, and now that it’s actually happening, in a dark alleyway in the middle of the night. With people heading towards them. She can hear their footsteps, they must be just around the corner. 

She pulls Jester in closer, and Jester follows. And then keeps pushing against Beau, moving them back until Beau’s back is against the door she was just trying to unlock. Jester’s hands move from Beau’s face, one sliding up into her hair, curling tightly just above where her bun starts, the other grasping the back of her head tightly, holding her in place against Jester’s mouth, as if there’s anywhere else she’d rather be than right here. 

The footsteps come to a halt. Beau moves her hands up Jester’s sides, then back, digging her fingers in slightly. Jester lets out a small sound that Beau thinks must be just to keep up their ruse, but secretly hopes is because of her. Surely Jester has also heard the footsteps stop. Surely she’s pushing against Beau to further sell their story. Surely she’s opening her mouth and licking at Beau’s lower lip, even though no one but them could be able to tell- 

The footsteps start up again. Beau’s heart is in her throat, waiting for them to come over. To see through their deception. To pull Jester away from her. She clutches even tighter onto Jester’s dress, leans further into the kiss. And the footsteps are moving away. 

Beau lets out a breath, which Jester seems to take as an invitation to deepen their kiss. This time, Beau really does moan, and it has absolutely nothing to do with pain or teeth. Well, maybe a little bit with teeth, as she can feel one of Jester’s sharp fangs against her upper lip, and it is really very hot and she hadn’t actually considered this before, and why is Jester still kissing her, when they’re safe now, when there’s no need to pretend anymore, when Beau is having so much trouble trying to remember that they’re here on a mission and for a secret midnight tryst, and Jester is making it harder to remember by the second. 

Finally, Jester pulls back to catch her breath. 

“Beau.” She sounds as wrecked as Beau feels. Beau keeps her eyes closed, she doesn’t know what Jester’s face will look like, and she’s slightly scared to find out. 

“Mm.”

“Beau, open your eyes.” Jester is pleading, and Beau could never say no to her, so she does. What she sees is her best friend. Lips puffy. Eyes intent, yet unsure. It’s too dark to see any colour without her goggles, but one of her hands lift up to Jester’s face on its own accord, and she feels flushed. Jester leans into the hand. 

“Beau, can I?” The question is different this time. Jester looked uncertain the first time, but now there’s a new kind of tension to her. No danger of being discovered is looming over their shoulders. It’s just them, in the moonlight, in a dingy alley, sharing the same air. 

Beau almost chokes on her breath, and Jester looks worried for a second, before Beau’s face splits into a grin. 

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes-”

She leans into Jester again, keeps whispering the word against her lips, before Jester tugs her too close to be able to speak. Her heart is soaring. Her arms are holding onto Jester as tight as she can. She’s pretty sure there’s a doorknob pushing into her back, but she doesn’t give a shit. 

The lockpicking tools lie forgotten on the ground, and someone is probably going to give them shit about that in the morning, but right now, nothing matters but the feeling of her best friend against her. Jester’s hands moving down her back. Jester’s lips pressed against hers. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world.


End file.
